


Navy Blue is the New Black

by tellmeyourownpolitik



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, OITNB - Freeform, my first ever fanfic boiiiisssss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmeyourownpolitik/pseuds/tellmeyourownpolitik
Summary: Following on from the first kiss on the theatre floor...Serena realises what we all know in that Bernie Wolfe is a fucking goddess, and she starts her three day orange is the new black binge!!!





	Navy Blue is the New Black

**Author's Note:**

> Helllooooo!!! Well here goes... I'VE WRITTEN MY FIRST EVER FANFIC!!!!! ENJOY!!!!

Serena shut her eyes the second she entered the safety of their office. Her head resting against the door she tried to steady her breath. In and out, in and out, why was she so shaken up anyway? Was it regret? Fear? Embarrassment? Or something else…

In an attempt to gather her thoughts, she tried to recall the events of the last few minutes. The ache in her heart when she heard Bernie utter her own worthlessness, the sheer joy of the smile she threw at her following Serena’s consolation, the feel of lips on hers, desperate but… sweet? That heat that pooled between her legs, the feeling of groundedness… then its sudden end. The feeling of being lost, like the earth had been taken from underneath her, she was just suspended in an airless, lifeless vacuum - so she’d surged forwards. Re-grounded herself, feeling nothing but desperation and longing and an ache, an oh so deep ache and it was… bliss? Surely not. But then the swinging and the crash of a door and the panic and what felt like the pull of a spring as she jumped from Bernie, from the kiss, scrambling to her feet, to the door, ripping off her scrubs throwing her blouse back on and striding to the office just to breathe. In and out. Where had all the fucking air gone. Oh god Bernie. Shed kissed Bernie. A woman. Shed kissed a woman and did she like it? Was she a lesbian now? Surely not. Robbie, chest hair, a long shaft, Bernie. Bernie oh Bernie. 

Panic rose again. Surely Bernie couldn’t be far behind her. Shit. Shit! Serena knew she had to get out. Her brain, her heart, her blood, her heat, it was all rushing at a thousand miles an hour she needed to breathe. Where was all the god damn air?

She ripped her coat off the stand and charged out of the office. Their office. The space she shared with oh Bernie. She took the stairs - she knew it was longer, knew Bernie would be in the lift. She hurried towards her car and drove. She drove away from the car park and driving and driving, fidgeting in her seat, shaky hands fiddling with the radio, ohhh pull yourself together Campbell it was just a kiss. Just a kiss.

When she reached her house she threw open the door slamming it closed behind, cringing as she realised too late that she could of woken Jason. She stood still for a moment, listening to the darkness before turning on the light, satisfied Jason hadn’t stirred. She kicked off her shoes and hung her coat, making a beeline for the kitchen where she all but threw a glass to the table before filling it almost to the brim with wine. The first slip was long and slow. The she took another, and another, after each sip taking stock of her senses to see if she was ready to process what had just happened. She had kissed Bernie and something, oh something had awoken inside her.

She couldn’t be a lesbian. I mean surely she’d know. She must know by now. She thought again of Robbie. Thought of his chest. His manly hairy chest, shed liked it, hadn’t she? She thought of Bernie. Thought of Bernie’s chest, how it felt pressed against hers. It was soft, just soft pressing breasts and breasts. She’s not a lesbian. How on earth could she be a lesbian? 

After sip number five she felt calmer. Muscles less tense as she leaned back into the chair. She started to contemplate what it would mean if she was – she wasn’t though – a lesbian. How do lesbians even have sex? I mean there’s nothing there right? But Bernie had had an affair with a woman. That meant sex. How did Bernie, oh Bernie, have sex with a woman?

 

It was after sip number 6 she decided to investigate. Her first thought was maybe she should try porn, but that felt wrong. She wasn’t a teenager and she’d always felt that porn was reserved for horny teens and pervy men – and Serena fell into neither category. And so that was how she ended up curled nervously on her sofa, sip number 7 passing her lips as her other hand rested in the cushion of her lap. That was how Serena Wendy Campbell – the middle aged, sophisticated STRAIGHT woman came to be sitting in front of her television screen watching Orange is the New Black. She was sure she’d read before it was about lesbians. As the titles ran she almost turned it off. She tutted to herself as she thought about how silly she was being. OF COURSE she wasn’t a lesbian. But then she saw two women share a shower and her interest piqued. 

Her mind wandered to what it would be like with Bernie in her shower. Both naked, face to face. Chest to chest. Bernie gently, innocently stroking her body the way this woman was. Serena groaned. Audibly groaned at the thought. Her hips gyrating forwards ever so slightly at the image her mind generated. 

The girl on the tv left the shower and Serena found herself looking at the woman’s breasts. How had she never noticed the beauty of breasts before? Round and pert with a dark hardened nipple. she hummed appreciatively. Her body starting to writhe ever so slightly into her sofa.

 

She continued to watch, somewhat disappointed by the coverage this straight relationship was getting. Her minded started to wander at this point. She lifted her hand from the cushion to brush her hair from her face, pretending it was merely coincidental if her fingers lightly brushed up over her chest on the way. As she lowered her hand, he movements became more deliberate. She cupped her left breast on the way down just needing to feeling something. 

Her hips continued their writhing as she thought of Bernie. Her hair, her face, her expressions, the way she looked in her coat – slim legs and a slim body – her boyish figure with those oh so feminine curves. She pictured her standing outside the hospital cigarette between her lips. She groaned again as she wondered whether Bernie smoked a cigarette after sex. Pictured her in a t-shirt, one moulded to her breasts as she breathed out smoke. She imagined Bernie breathing smoke into her mouth -where had that come from? Oh fuck Campbell. Oh fuck. 

However, she was broken from her revive as another scene in a shower came on. There was a woman - a deliciously naked woman - leant against a wall, body soaking in more ways than one, with her left leg slung over the shoulder of another woman. All long messy hair and more and more curves. Serena groaned loudly again as she watched this woman’s face move between legs, between thighs, against her sex. 

Serena’s hips shot forwards, her head leaning back to rest against the sofa – she was so turned on. So fucking turned on. She couldn’t help herself anymore. She grabbed at her breast through her shirt, squeezing it, needing to feel something, anything to ease the longing. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She fucking ached for Berenice Wolfe. 

She squeezed her eyes shut as all the images ran through her mind at once. She imagined Bernie’s face, Bernie’s hands, Bernie’s long supple surgically trained fingers. Imagined the fingers on her breasts were Bernie’s. Imagined Bernie’s breasts – oh fuck – remembering how they’d felt pressed against her own just a few hours earlier. She groaned again. The longing was almost painful. Her other hand slipped down slowly, apprehensively over her stomach. She caressed her stomach slightly, imagined her palm was Bernie’s chin – another groan, before she lightly ran her finger tips lower. She hooked her thumb under the waistband of her trousers toying with them slightly, wondering if she was really going to do this here, in her living room, Jason sleeping upstairs, while she thought of her work colleague.  
But it was the thought of not continuing that spurred her on. She was too far gone, far too fucking turned on stop and so unceremoniously yanked both her trousers and underwear down until they were halfway down her thigh. Her left hand reached under her camisole and dug beneath her bra to palm her breast pulling and squeezing in the way she imagined Bernie would do, her right hand resting on her navel. She continued to writhe at the sensation caused by the feeling of the nipple as she pinched it, her mind shifting from the oh so gorgeous picture of Bernie doing this to her, to her doing this to Bernie, she groaned again at the thought. Hips gyrating more desperately as she pictured her hands on Bernie’s bare chest. Bernie’s chest, that neck all bared to her as she throws her head back, blonde hair trailing after her as she moans Serena’s name.

And suddenly Serena can’t take it anymore. Her right hands slid lower, fingers briefly curling the hair they find as they slides over the curve of her sex and plunged before plunging into white heat. Her hips flew forward and a groan practically forced its way out of her mouth as she began to move her fingers up and down through a quite frankly outrageous amount of wetness given that practically all she’d done so far was use her own imagination. Her movements became concentrated - she tried circling her clit, teasing herself, but it wasn’t enough - not then, so she moved her hand quicker and quicker, rubbing her clit as her hips rutted with every stroke, grunting and muttering Bernie’s name - the shear thrill of hearing her fantasies verbalised fuelling her further and further.

 

She was so fucking close but wanted more. She repositioned her hand so that her thumb could continue its work against her clit and she could thrust a finger inside, then another groaning at the feeling of her own sleek insides, the feeling of flesh, soft wet slick flesh. She pumped her fingers once twice, imaged that was how Bernie felt inside, how Bernie’s breast felt and she was coming. Fucking hell she was coming harder than she ever had. Her whole body trembled as she let out a noise she couldn’t make any more attractive than a ‘gahhhh’ and she felt moisture gush from within her, white light behind her eyelids as she panted through her release gently stroking her clit again flooding her mind with images of Bernie. Bernie above her as she comes, Bernie coming. Her body sagged against the sofa as she came around. Wiping her hand against her stomach she quickly hoisted her trousers and underwear back up. Suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that she had just masturbated really quite loudly with her autistic nephew sleeping in the room directly above. She smirked despite herself. Who was she kidding, whatever she was feeling she knew there was atleast lust. Pure unadulterated lust – hell she can’t ever remember being that turned on. 

As she rose from the sofa and began pottering round her house getting ready for bed, she began to think about the events of the day. To say she was nervous was an understatement. She’d already mentally calculated how long it would be before she and Bernie had an overlapping shift, and just thinking about next Tuesday made her feel sick (Christ pull yourself together woman you’re a middle aged professional woman for fuck’s sake)!  
There was no denying there was lust. But did she actually want sex with Bernie Wolfe? Did she want a relationship? Hell, did she even want a relationship with a woman?  
The only thing she was certain of, was that she couldn’t fucking wait til next Tuesday.


End file.
